All praise to Thee, who safe has keptAnd hast refreshed me while I sleptGrant, Lord, when I from death shall wakeI may of endless light partake.

This stirring morning hymn was the work of Thomas Ken (1637—1711), one of the most saintly figures in the history of the Church of England.

Left an orphan as a young child, he was brought up by Izaak Walton, the author of The Compleat Angler. He was educated at Winchester and New College, Oxford, and ordained at the age of twenty-six. Six years later he returned to his old school as a teacher and chaplain, becoming also a Prebendary of Winchester Cathedral.

Ken later achieved considerable fame as chaplain to King Charles II, whose amorous adventures he found impossible to sanction. On one celebrated occasion Charles found himself in Winchester with his mistress Nell Gwyn and asked Ken to put them up in his house. Ken refused, declaring, 'Not for your kingdom would I allow such an insult on the house of a Royal chaplain.' ....

'Awake, my soul' was written while Ken was still at Winchester and before he had become embroiled in the world of politics. In 1674 he published a manual of prayers for the boys at the College, and in the 1695 edition of that work this hymn appeared together with hymns to be sung in the evening and at midnight. ....

Modern hymn-books tend to print a shortened version. The hymn is generally sung to the tune Morning Hymn by François Hippolite Barthelemon (1741-1808). Also known as Hippolytus and Magdalene, it was specially written for 'Awake, my soul' at the request of the chaplain of a female orphan asylum in London and was first published in 1785. ....

At his own request Ken was buried at sunrise in the churchyard at Frome, Somerset, with his beautiful morning hymn being sung. (Ian Bradley, ed., The Penguin Book of Hymns, 1989.)

Sunday, May 29, 2016

I don't particularly like horror films so I may not seek out the movie Philip Jenkins is writing about here. His enthusiasm may overcome my reluctance. I do like his broader point about films with historical settings. It is annoying when a film just doesn't get things right.

I...enjoy historical films, but I have the problem of an imp who sits on my shoulder and constantly nags about points of detail: Look, that hairstyle is a decade off! Oh my, they would never use that word then, that’s an anachronism. It’s even the wrong century! And that costume uses a color that just was not available then. I still enjoy the films, but I am aware of the inconsistencies.

With that in mind, you know what is wrong with The Witch, what is out of period? Absolutely nothing, nothing whatever, and I can’t remember when I ever said that about any film. The houses and farmstead are impeccably reconstructed. Even the dialogue is flawless, and that is virtually impossible to get right. As a historical vision, this is as close to perfect as you get. It may actually have been filmed by using a time machine to visit Connecticut in 1635.

To use an odd analogy, the last time I thought that about the dialogue in any historical film was the Coens’ True Grit, not what we normally think of as a historical epic. But that was perfect too, in its way. I think you should see True Grit twice, the second time wearing a blindfold so the gorgeous visuals don’t distract from the dialogue. ....

.... Memorial Day, once called Decoration Day, is a post-Civil War holiday. It was first instituted by the Grand Army of the Republic on May 30, 1868, “for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land.” If the Fourth of July renews the memory of the birth of the nation, Decoration Day renewed the memory of those who gave their lives “that that nation might live,” or again in Lincoln’s words, that this nation would have a new birth of freedom.

On Decoration Day, May 30, 1871, at Arlington National Cemetery, it was an ex-slave named Frederick Douglass who delivered the memorial address near the monument to the “Unknown Loyal Dead,” before a gathering that included President Grant, his cabinet, and many other distinguished people. “Dark and sad,” Douglass began, “will be the hour to this nation when it forgets to pay grateful homage to its greatest benefactors.” Giving eloquent expression to that homage, he concluded: “If today we have a country not boiling in the agony of blood, like France, if now we have a united country, no longer cursed by the hell-black system of human bondage...if the star-spangled banner floats only over free American citizens in every quarter of the land, and our country has before it a long and glorious career of justice, liberty, and civilization, we are indebted to the unselfish devotion of the noble army who rest in these honored graves all around us.”

On this occasion and for the rest of his life, Douglass was at pains to keep alive through speech the memory and meaning of the deeds of that noble army of men who gave their lives to preserve the Union. ....

After World War I, Decoration Day was expanded to commemorate the lives of all those who have died in service to our country. Later, the name of the holiday was changed to Memorial Day; later still, it lost its fixed date in the calendar, celebrated instead on the last Monday in May. ....

Friday, May 27, 2016

.... Fahrenheit 451 also speaks of, and to, a culture that was becoming more superficial and philistine, in which television screens cover entire walls, where, in the words of the fire-chief Beatty: ‘School is shortened, discipline relaxed, philosophies, languages dropped, English and spelling gradually neglected… Life is immediate… Why learn anything save pressing buttons, pulling switches.’ .... Give us no time to “stop and stare”.’ How prescient these words and Fahrenheit 451 sound today, in a 21st century of shrinking attention spans and the proliferation of electronic screens. ....

Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 also reminds us of the symbiotic relationship between authoritarianism and utilitarianism, for the dangers of driving for universal happiness. .... ‘You must understand that our civilisation is so vast that we can’t have our minorities upset and stirred. Ask yourself, What do we want in this country, above all? People want to be happy, isn’t that right?... That’s all we live for, isn’t it? For pleasure and titillation? And you must admit our culture provides plenty of these.’ ....

Western culture in 2016 has developed an idea that happiness, safety and comfort are primary goals, and that unhappiness and discomfort are anathemas. ....

...Bradbury recognised that tyranny is at its most potent when it’s superficially most benevolent, when it dresses up coercion and censorship in kindly, caring language. A society that believes it paramount to keep its citizens safe, happy and comfortable for the greater good can not, and will not, tolerate dangerous words.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

There are several on-line sites that provide extensive information about hymn texts, tunes, authors, composers, and more. The one I consult most often is The Cyber Hymnal: "This site has over 11,300 Christian hymns & Gospel songs from many denominations & languages. We have lyrics, sheet music, audio, pictures, biographies, history & more." If your worship includes hymns you might find this site useful.

I also have in my library several books that provide background information about hymns. My favorite is The Penguin Book of Hymns. It is out of print but second-hand copies can be purchased for nominal amounts. Since the pages in my paperback are turning brown I decided to seek out a hardbound copy and found one through Amazon for $3.00. There were less expensive options also available. The book came today and is pictured on the right.

From the editor's introduction:

.... Those who like statistics may be interested in the following information about the 150 hymns which make up this collection. Ninety-three are English in origin, 17 American, 6 Irish, 5 Scottish and 2 Welsh. Of those that have been translated from foreign languages, 11 were originally in Latin, 9 in German, 2 each in Italian and Greek, and one each in Swiss, Swedish and Danish.

Sixty-nine of the hymns in this collection were originally written in the nineteenth century (this is not counting translations of earlier hymns), 35 in the eighteenth century, 14 in the seventeenth century and 12 in the twentieth century. Three date from the sixteenth century and the remaining 17 are translations of hymns from the Early Church and the Middle Ages. Not counting the Psalms, which form the basis for many of the greatest hymns in the English language, the oldest hymn in this collection is from the second century. ....

May I end this short introduction with a plea to the clergy, whose ranks I have recently joined? Would it be possible to introduce into services some brief words of explanation about the hymns which are going to be sung, such as are increasingly given before readings from the Bible? Hymns form one of the most important elements of public worship, and I think congregations would appreciate learning a little about the authors of hymns and the circumstances in which they were written. I modestly offer this book to all who find themselves conducting services of worship in the hope that they may find it helpful in preparing a few words to introduce the hymns. I hope it may also prove interesting to all those who enjoy lifting up their hearts and letting their mouths show forth the praise of God, whether in cathedral, church, mission hall, open-air rally, or in the privacy of their own bathrooms. ....

An example of the commentary from the section about "Nearer My God to Thee":

.... The great question about 'Nearer, my God, to Thee' is, of course, whether it was the hymn that the band struck up on the Titanic as that ill-fated liner sank after hitting an iceberg on 14 April 1912. Mrs Eva Hart, one of the few survivors of the disaster still living, is adamant that it was. 'I am as certain about that as I am sitting here,' she is quoted in The Times of 13 April 1987 as saying. 'Whether it was the last hymn, I don't know.'

Others, however, are sceptical about the tradition that it was Mrs Adams's hymn that was played as the ship went down. They base their doubts on the fact that contemporary press reports quoted the ship's radio operator, Harold Bride, a trained choirboy who survived the disaster, as saying that what he heard being played from the sinking vessel as he was in the sea waiting to be rescued was the hymn tune Autumn. There are, in fact, three different tunes with this name to be found in early twentieth-century hymn-books, set respectively to Robert Bridges's 'Joy and triumph everlasting', George Home's 'See the leaves around us falling' and William Walsham How's 'The year is swiftly waning'. If it was one of these that the band played, the last is the most likely candidate. The lines which close its first verse would certainly have been appropriate to the melancholy occasion:

And life, brief life, is speeding;
The end is nearing fast.

Sir Ronald Johnson, who has made a special study of the whole question of the Titanic hymn and with whom I have corresponded at some length on the subject, believes that the tune heard by Bride and wrongly transcribed by reporters was, in fact, Aughton, which accompanied W. B. Bradbury's hymn, 'He leadeth me! O blessed thought'. Its closing verse would certainly have been apt:

And when my task on earth is done
When by Thy grace the victory's won
E'en death's cold wave I will not flee
Since God through Jordan leadeth me.

Thursday, May 19, 2016

I'm reading All the Great Prizes: The Life of John Hay, from Lincoln to Roosevelt. Hay was one of two secretaries for Lincoln in the White House during the Civil War. He remained active in journalism, Republican politics and diplomacy for the rest of his life, finally serving as Secretary of State for McKinley and TR. Early in the period after the Civil War, he spent time as an editorial writer for Horace Greeley's New York Tribune. During that period he composed some very popular "poems" in the mode of Brett Harte. I think my Skaggs grandfather must have been familiar with the genre because he wrote several that had a similar sensibility. One of Hay's very popular efforts was "Jim Bludso" (1871). Mark Twain liked it although that former river pilot had a few technical corrections. There is an unfortunate racial slur in the 4th verse that I have removed.

WALL, no! I can’t tell whar he lives, Because he don’t live, you see; Leastways, he’s got out of the habit Of livin’ like you and me. Whar have you been for the last three year That you haven’t heard folks tell How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks The night of the Prairie Belle?

The fire bust out as she clared the bar, And burnt a hole in the night, And quick as a flash she turned, and made For that willer-bank on the right. There was runnin’ and cursin’, but Jim yelled out, Over all the infernal roar, “I’ll hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last galoot’s ashore.”

He weren’t no saint,—them engineers Is all pretty much alike,— One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill And another one here, in Pike; A keerless man in his talk was Jim, And an awkward hand in a row, But he never flunked, and he never lied,— I reckon he never knowed how.

Through the hot, black breath of the burnin’ boat Jim Bludso’s voice was heard, And they all had trust in his cussedness, And knowed he would keep his word. And, sure’s you’re born, they all got off Afore the smokestacks fell,— And Bludso’s ghost went up alone In the smoke of the Prairie Belle.

And this was all the religion he had,— To treat his engine well; Never be passed on the river; To mind the pilot’s bell; And if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,— A thousand times he swore He’d hold her nozzle agin the bank Till the last soul got ashore.

He weren’t no saint,—but at jedgment I’d run my chance with Jim, ’Longside of some pious gentlemen That wouldn’t shook hands with him. He seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,— And went for it thar and then; And Christ ain't a going to be too hard On a man that died for men.

All boats has their day on the Mississip, And her day come at last,— The Movastar was a better boat, But the Belle she wouldn’t be passed. And so she come tearin’ along that night— The oldest craft on the line— With a _____ squat on her safety-valve, And her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.

Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Howard Pyle (1853-1911) is among my favorite illustrators. Pirates were one of his favorite subjects and he both authored and illustrated Howard Pyle's Book Of Pirates. This painting, though, stood alone, not illustrating a particular story, although there is a story in the painting — easily interpreted by those familiar with the pirate genre.

Howard Pyle, "Dead Men Tell No Tales" (1899)

Pyle described to a correspondent what the picture shows:

My pirate picture may be explained as follows: The captain of the pirate vessel and the first mate called upon three of the crew and together they have carried a chest of treasure up among the sand hills on the Atlantic Coast just below the mouth of Delaware Bay. .... The pirate captain and the mate had already arranged between them that the fewer who knew such a secret the better. Consequently when the treasure was safely buried...they immediately proceeded to put out of the way the unfortunate witnesses of the secret.The mate shot two of the men as they stood together resting from their toil—the one with one pistol and the other with the other. The third victim started to run, but the captain running almost parallel with him and cutting him off at the edge of a little bluff, knocked him over with a single clean and well-directed shot.As the situation now stands the mate has no load in either of his pistols and the captain has one pistol, which is yet loaded.I do not know what happened after I drew my picture.

Monday, May 16, 2016

Continuing to browse in Ian Bradley's The Penguin Book of Hymns (1989), I came to "All My Hope on God is Founded." From the description:

This is a good example of a hymn which has only become really popular because of a particular tune. Until Herbert Howells composed Michael for it in 1930, 'All my hope on God is founded' was sung comparatively little. Since then it has been a favourite...although it is still not found in as many hymn-books as it ought to be considering the quality of both its words and music....

It is loosely based on a German hymn, 'Meine Hoffnung Stehetfeste', by Joachim Neander (1650-80). Neander was born in Bremen, became a Christian pastor following a dramatic conversion after a youth devoted to riotous living, and at the age of twenty-four was appointed headmaster of the Latin School at Dusseldorf. His highly independent and unorthodox views caused some trouble with the authorities and he was forced to sign a declaration that he would not engage in extreme religious fervour. Although he died of consumption at the age of thirty, he left around sixty hymns, many of which are still sung by reformed congregations in Germany.

'Meine Hoffnung Stehetfeste', which appeared in Neander's hymn collection Alpha and Omega, published in 1680, was originally intended to be sung as a grace after a meal. It was based on the passage in I Timothy 6:17, in which the rich are charged not to 'trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy'. .... (Ian Bradley, ed., The Penguin Book of Hymns, 1989.)

Sunday, May 15, 2016

"Abide with us, for it is toward evening"

Abide with me: fast falls the eventide;The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide:When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away;Change and decay in all around I see;O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour;What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power?Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.Where is death's sting? where, grave, thy victory?I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes;Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies:Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

About the hymn:

...[T]his Victorian hymn is particularly associated with funeral services and has given hope and comfort to many facing death or bereavement.

The author, Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847), was born at Ednam, near Kelso in the Scottish borders, and educated at Trinity College, Dublin, where he won the prize for English poetry three times. He was ordained in 1815 and served as a curate in churches in Ireland and the West of England. In 1823 he became perpetual curate of the parish of Lower Brixham, a seaside and fishing village in Devon. There he remained for the rest of his life, increasingly dogged by illness.

....In 1820, when he was just 27, Lyte visited an old friend, Augustus le Hunte, who was in his last illness. The dying man apparently kept repeating the phrase 'Abide with me', and these words greatly impressed the young curate. When Lyte knew himself to be close to death, he recalled le Hunte's words and wrote out his hymn. Shortly before leaving Brixham he gave the manuscript to his daughter, who published it in 1850.

The scriptural inspiration for the hymn comes from St Luke 24:29, where the disciples journeying on the road to Emmaus beseech Christ: 'Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.' ...[W]hen Hymns Ancient and Modern was being compiled...William Henry Monk (1823-89), organist of St Matthias, Stoke Newington, was asked to write a new melody. His tune, Eventide, accompanied the hymn in the first edition of the new hymn-book which was published in 1861, and has been its inseparable companion ever since. ....

'Abide with me' was much parodied by soldiers in the First World War. .... In its original version the hymn gave much comfort to Edith Cavell, the British nurse imprisoned and condemned to death by the Germans in 1915 for helping wounded soldiers to escape. On the night before she was shot, she sat in her cell singing it with a British chaplain. (Ian Bradley, ed., The Penguin Book of Hymns, 1989.)

Friday, May 13, 2016

“The Obama administration is planning to issue a sweeping directive telling every public school district in the country to allow transgender students to use the bathrooms that match their gender identity.” .... By now, of course, it’s no surprise that the law is being supplanted by executive “directives” from an increasingly lawless administration. But the terms in which this process is reported reveal how much it has been helped along by a decline in the standards of our common English tongue. The word “identity,” as we are now to understand, has joined a host of other once-useful words — “truth,” “lies,” “justice,” “honor,” and “reality” among them — in becoming completely subjective and therefore meaning whatever the speaker or writer wants them to mean.

Which, as a moment’s thought will tell us, is tantamount to meaning nothing at all. ....

First, that is, you choose your “gender”; then you lose your identity. And so does everyone else. We might have seen this coming years ago when people started “identifying” with fictional characters and then — full of compassion, naturally — with each other. We pedants might have pointed out that what they meant was that they identified themselves with those who inspired in them fellow-feeling of one sort or another, but hardly anyone saw the need to retain this second, crucial element in the process of identification....

...[A]ll identification has become self-identification, a mere fantasy of otherness, that everyone now can feel he or she has a right to — like, as it turns out, the right to be he or she. Nor, as the latest news informs us, is it only the right to one’s “chosen gender” that one is entitled to but the right to have everyone else forced to play along with the fantasy, as always in the name of compassion. ....

.... Fear is, somehow or other, the archen­emy itself. It crouches in people’s hearts. It hollows out their insides, until their resistance and strength are spent and they suddenly break down. Fear secretly gnaws and eats away at all the ties that bind a person to God and to others, and when in a time of need that person reaches for those ties and clings to them, they break and the individual sinks back into himself or herself, helpless and despairing, while hell rejoices.

Now fear leers that person in the face, saying: Here we are all by our­selves, you and I, now I’m showing you my true face. And anyone who has seen naked fear revealed, who has been its victim in terrifying loneliness — fear of an important decision; fear of a heavy stroke of fate, losing one’s job, an illness; fear of a vice that one can no longer resist, to which one is enslaved; fear of disgrace; fear of another person; fear of dying — that per­son knows that fear is only one of the faces of evil itself, one form by which the world, at enmity with God, grasps for someone. Nothing can make a human being so conscious of the reality of powers opposed to God in our lives as this loneliness, this helplessness, this fog spreading over everything, this sense that there is no way out, and this raving impulse to get oneself out of this hell of hopelessness. ....

But the human being doesn’t have to be afraid; we should not be afraid! That is what makes humans different from all other creatures. In the midst of every situation where there is no way out, where nothing is clear, where it is our fault, we know that there is hope, and this hope is called: Thy will be done, yes, thy will is being done. “This world must fall, God stands above all, his thoughts unswayed, his Word unstayed, his will forever our ground and hope.” Do you ask: How do you know? Then we name the name of the One who makes the evil inside us recoil, who makes fear and anxiety themselves tremble with fear and puts them to flight. We name the One who overcame fear and led it captive in the victory proces­sion, who nailed it to the cross and committed it to oblivion; we name the One who is the shout of victory of humankind redeemed from the fear of death — Jesus Christ, the Crucified and Living One. He alone is Lord over fear; it knows him as its master; it gives way to him alone. So look to Christ when you are afraid, think of Christ, keep him before your eyes, call upon Christ and pray to him, believe that he is with you now, helping you ... Then fear will grow pale and fade away, and you will be free, through your faith in our strong and living Savior, Jesus Christ.

Let’s say there is a ship on the high sea, having a fierce struggle with the waves. The storm wind is blowing harder by the minute. The boat is small, tossed about like a toy; the sky is dark; the sailors’ strength is failing. Then one of them is gripped by ... whom? what? ... he cannot tell him­self. But someone is there in the boat who wasn’t there before. Someone comes close to him and lays cold hands on his arms as he pulls wildly on his oar. He feels his muscles freeze, feels the strength go out of them. Then the unknown one reaches into his heart and mind and magically brings forth the strangest pictures. He sees his family, his children crying. What will become of them if he is no more? Then he seems to be back where he once was when he followed evil ways, in long years of bondage to evil, and he sees the faces of his companions in that bondage. He sees a neighbor whom he wounded, only yesterday, with an angry word. Suddenly he can no longer see or hear anything, can no longer row, a wave overwhelms him, and in final desperation he shrieks: Stranger in this boat, who are you? And the other answers, I am Fear. Now the cry goes up from the whole crew; Fear is in the boat; all arms are frozen and drop their oars; all hope is lost, Fear is in the boat.

Then it is as if the heavens opened, as if the heavenly hosts themselves raised a shout of victory in the midst of hopelessness: Christ is in the boat. Christ is in the boat, and no sooner has the call gone out and been heard than Fear shrinks back, and the waves subside. The sea becomes calm and the boat rests on its quiet surface. Christ was in the boat! ....

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

My father's favorite New Testament version was J.B. Phillips's The New Testament in Modern English (1958) combining the previously published Letters to Young Churches with Phillips's translation of the Gospels. This, from Matthew 8, gives a fair sense of how the translation reads:

On the evening of that day, he said to them,
"Let us cross over to the other side of the lake."
So they sent the crowd home and took him with them in the little boat in which he had been sitting, accompanied by other small craft. Then came a violent squall of wind which drove the waves aboard the boat until it was almost swamped. Jesus was in the stern asleep on the cushion. They awoke him with the words,
"Master, don't you care that we're drowning?"
And he woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the waves,
"Hush now! Be still!"
The wind dropped and everything was very still.
"Why are you so frightened? What has happened to your faith?" he asked them.
But sheer awe swept over them, and they kept saying to one another,
"Who ever can he be?—even the wind and the waves do what he tells them!"

In 1967 Macmillan published Phillips's Ring of Truth: A Translator's Testimony. These two quotations are from his chapters about translating the Gospels:

Suppose that you have spent many hundred hours in putting these four widely differing accounts of some of the sayings and doings of the man Jesus into today's English. Do you find yourself so confused that you conclude that there was no such person at all? I take leave to doubt it. It is, in my experience, the people who have never troubled seriously to study the four Gospels who are loudest in their protests that there was no such person. I felt, and feel, without any shadow of doubt that close contact with the text of the Gospels builds up in the heart and mind a character of awe-inspiring stature and quality. I have read, in Greek and Latin, scores of myths, but I did not find the slightest flavour of myth here. There is no hysteria, no careful working for effect, and no attempt at collusion. These are not embroidered tales: the material is cut to the bone. One sensed again and again that understatement which we have been taught to think is more "British" than Oriental. There is an almost childlike candour and simplicity, and the total effect is tremendous. No man could ever have invented such a character as Jesus. No man could have set down such artless and vulnerable accounts as these unless some real Event lay behind them. ....

But it would be a profound mistake to think that Jesus was merely an eloquent field preacher who had got on the wrong side of authority. His character was strange and unpredictable. He was meek in the way that only the strong can truly be, yet he called, demanded, and commanded without explanation or apology. What other man could call some fishermen to leave their skilled job or ask somebody else to give up the lucrative, even though despised, work of tax collecting and to follow him, and succeed? What other man could look straight at a ring of hostile faces and throw out the challenge "Which of you convinces me of sin?" and yet give no impression of arrogance or self-righteousness? ....

Monday, May 9, 2016

Those complaining the loudest about discrimination, are often the most discriminatory.

Liberals are not really liberals, but simply want one view.

Those pushing for all views to be treated fairly, are not treating all views fairly.

The supposed quest for equality, is really a quest to privilege a certain viewpoint.

And on and on we could go.

The basic point is this. In the modern liberal push for diversity there is one enormous category missing: intellectual/religious/ideological diversity.

All the while our liberal culture pats itself on the back for being so diverse–whether that diversity be racial, ethnic, or cultural diversity—it continues to ignore the biggest area of potential diversity. Diversity of thinking. ....

WE progressives believe in diversity, and we want women, blacks, Latinos, gays and Muslims at the table — er, so long as they aren’t conservatives.

Universities are the bedrock of progressive values, but the one kind of diversity that universities disregard is ideological and religious. We’re fine with people who don’t look like us, as long as they think like us.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

From Elton Trueblood's collection of Daily Readings from the Prayers of Samuel Johnson, one titled "Engaging in Politics."

ALMIGHTY GOD, who art the Giver of all Wisdom enlighten my understanding with knowledge of right, and govern my will by Thy laws, that no deceit may mislead me, nor temptation corrupt me, that I may always endeavour to do good, and to hinder evil. Amidst all the hopes and fears of this world, take not Thy Holy Spirit from me, but grant that my thoughts may be fixed on Thee, and that I may finally attain everlasting happiness, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.

Friday, May 6, 2016

I'm offended every day. For example, the British newspapers every day offend me with their laziness, their nastiness, and their inaccuracy, but I'm not going to expect someone to stop that happening; I just simply speak out about it. ... [A] fellow who I helped write two books about psychology and psychiatry was a renowned psychiatrist in London called Robin Skynner said something very interesting to me. He said, "If people can't control their own emotions, then they have to start trying to control other people's behavior." And when you're around super-sensitive people, you cannot relax and be spontaneous because you have no idea what's going to upset them next. ...[P]olitical correctness has been taken from being a good idea, which is let's not be mean in particular to people who are not able to look after themselves very well — that's a good idea — to the point where any kind of criticism [of] any individual or group could be labeled cruel.

And the whole point about humor, the whole point about comedy, and believe you me I thought about this, is that all comedy is critical. Even if you make a very inclusive joke like how would you make God laugh? Answer: Tell him your plans. Now that's about the human condition; it's not excluding anyone. It's saying we all have all these plans, which probably won't come and isn't it funny how we still believe they're going to happen. So that's a very inclusive joke. It's still critical. All humor is critical. If you start to say, "We mustn't; we mustn't criticize or offend them," then humor is gone. With humor goes a sense of proportion. And then as far as I'm concerned, you're living in 1984.

Monday, May 2, 2016

After a much longer wait than the original estimate the Kickstarter project, BIBLIOTHECA, may be nearing completion:

...[A]s of last week our proofreading phase with Peachtree Editorial has concluded, and we are now devoting every ounce of energy to making our final checks and corrections and finessing the typesetting before we ship the text off for printing. Production on well over 100 tons of premium book paper began at Salzer, in Austria, last week, and Kösel, our printing and binding house, has reserved a block for Bibliotheca on their production calendar. We will deliver files on May 11 to begin printing on May 19. ....

Lord of all hopefulness, Lord of all joy,Whose trust, ever child-like,no cares could destroy,Be there at our waking, and give us, we pray,Your bliss in our hearts, Lord,at the break of the day.

Lord of all kindliness, Lord of all grace,
Your hands swift to welcome, your arms to embrace,
Be there at our homing, and give us, we pray,
Your love in our hearts, Lord,at the eve of the day.

Lord of all eagerness, Lord of all faith,
Whose strong hands were skilled at the plane and the lathe,
Be there at our labors, and give us, we pray,
Your strength in our hearts, Lord,at the noon of the day.

Lord of all gentleness, Lord of all calm,
Whose voice is contentment, whose presence is balm,
Be there at our sleeping, and give us, we pray,
Your peace in our hearts, Lord,at the end of the day.

I haven't read The Prisoner of Zenda since I was a teenager — which is to say for a very long time. I remember enjoying it a lot and largely for the reasons Sean Fitzpatrick gives in "The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope: Escape From Cynicism." The book is pure escapism and especially in political years like this one yearns to escape. Tolkien defended "escapist" stories by asking "Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home?” and reminds us that those tasked with preventing escapes are jailers. Fitzpatrick on the book:

.... There are in existence a few books that can cure the sickness of cynicism. These books remind men of the glory and grandeur of man and the glories and grandeurs that give meaning to mankind. The Prisoner of Zenda, written in 1894 by Anthony Hope, is one of these. This “spirited and gallant little book,” as Robert Louis Stevenson described it, is a remedy to the heavy seriousness of cynicism because it is lighthearted. It is a fairy tale infused with the optimism of escapism, the thrill of romance, and the charm of the dashing, debonair, gentleman hero. Even the gravest of cynics must smile, chuckle, and inch to the edge of his seat in appreciation of men bristling with weapons, women swooning in their lovers’ arms, guns firing and combatants laughing, swords flashing and soldiers of fortune. The Prisoner of Zenda is quite simply irresistible, making it a balm for this dour day and age, and worthy of its reputation for being the finest adventure story ever written, in which the struggle between good and evil is a great game and nothing seems so serious as keeping the serious at bay. ....

.... The plot hurtles on like a horse and is dominated by a sense of time running out. The Prisoner of Zenda might even be regarded as one of the original ticking-clock suspense thrillers, paving the way for a whole story-type that relies on a heightened awareness of time and impending doom. Related to this theme of time is the timing of a protagonist who rises to occasion. Rudolf Rassendyll was launched into a breakneck race sword in hand, but he began the story at a breakfast table egg-spoon in hand. Rassendyll represents a classic romantic archetype, being the ordinary gentleman who is ready, willing, and able to face extraordinary circumstances and play the part of the hero decisively when the times demands it of him. ....

The Prisoner of Zenda is an antidote for worldly cynicism because it transports readers to another world that is unsullied by cynicism. .... [more]

The Prisoner of Zenda: Being the History of Three Months in the Life of an English Gentleman can be downloaded from ManyBooks.

Standfast:

"I thought we had an honest man upon the Road, and therefore should have
his Company by and by."
"If you thought not amiss" said Standfast "how happy am I, but if I be not as I should, I alone must bear it."